Five Views of Childhood
by In Memory of the Shrimp
Summary: Before they were pilots, these were their lives.


**5 Views of Childhood**

Disclaimer: We don't own anything. _Though we wish we did._

This is a story that takes on the five views of the pilots' childhoods (As if you couldn't tell from the title). Hope you enjoy reading it!

* * *

1.) 

When he was twelve, the church blew and Sister Helen's blood was spilled across the asphalt. Father Maxwell was a scattering of ashes and the remnants of skeleton, a scrap of black cloth clutched to his white priest collar. Duo died.

And Shinigami, the blank-eyed God of Death, was violently born

On the streets of L2 there was a massacre of Feds and rebels, their bodies strewn like misplaced dolls across the rubble. Shinigami smiled pitilessly and wiped clean his blade of blood and dirt.

2.)

When he was twelve, he ran away from home. He knew what anyone would say if he told his story: in mocking voice would come, "Oh, you poor little rich boy. Given everything you've ever wanted, and still found something to complain about." But those other people were never born out of a tube, never created for the sake of money, the sake of a Company, only.

Quatre spent two days on the summer streets of Kurdzu, the closest town to his father's estate. He hid in corners, in alleys, in parks. He dirtied gold hair, blackened white teeth, ripped three-hundred credit clothes. Still his father's men found him.

Later, after he'd woken from the darts filled with sedatives that had been shot into his system, he'd wonder, "How did they find me? How did they know where to look?"

And he'd feel the back of his neck, feel the thin layer of skin and the metal beneath it, and know. He had cost too much money--too many years of experiments in the lab--to ever lose.

3.)

When he was twelve, he met his fiancee; she punched him in his face and spat on his crumpled form. Wufei later defined that as the moment he fell in love.

Meiran was not beautiful so much as she was fierce. A fire burned bright within her, intensity masked by a pair of coal black eyes and a scornful smirk. She defied Wufei to put down his scholarly texts, to match her blow by blow.

Wufei loved her, yes. But he was young and loved himself more. And so, when the time for fighting came, he didn't protest when she went away to war. When she died, all he felt was relief that his future would be boundless, open, and free.

But then, Meiran was vindictive--even in death, she'd found a way to bind him to her.

It would be her face he'd see in the shadows after he had killed an Oz soldier. Laughing.

4.)

When he was twelve, the mercenaries gave him a flute and he taught himself to play. Squirrels and crows, wild animals, would come and listen, their bright eyes appreciative, and wouldn't scatter as he moved closer to them, step by step.

Sometimes Nanashi felt half-wild himself.

One of the mercenaries asked Nanashi, "Why do you play so much, practice so much with that thing?"

Nanashi felt an itch beneath his skin, a snarl forming on his lips. Stilling himself, he replied, "It calms them," and nodded to the wheeling crows flashing through the blue-gray sky.

But who he really meant was himself.

5.)

When he was twelve, he left Odin Lowe. The assassin gave him a violin case, the same one he'd used for job after job to conceal his pistol. J took him by the arm with his one hand, his metal hook glinting ominously from his other arm, and said, "Come now, boy."

Later, in the privacy of his new room, he opened the violin case expecting to see his familiar gun. Instead there was a violin, gleaming with red varnish.

He laid a curious finger on it, relishing the smoothness of wood, the texture of grain. He promised himself, "One day I'll learn how to play it."

This was before he had a name.

* * *

That's it. Whoa, my back hurts now from leaning over the keyboard and it wasn't even that long. Maybe I should learn how to type properly. 

Constructive critisism is appreciated. We (or I do least) _(I do too!)_like knowing if there is anyway to improve our writing. Though fiancee doesn't have an accent only because my keyboard doesn't have that key.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Tell us your favourite view of childhood, too, please!


End file.
